


Completion

by Barely_Meeting_Expectations



Category: Night In The Woods (Video Game)
Genre: But Angus makes everything okay, Canon Gay Relationship, Crimes, Dialogue Light, Gregg is having a bad time, Gregg rulz ok, Gregg/Angus angst, Hate Crimes, Homophobia, Kind of abstract/unclear writing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Possum Springs, Pre-Canon, Rating will change next chapter, Smash things, Trespassing, Will eventually become abstract porn?, yall know the meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 19:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10472358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barely_Meeting_Expectations/pseuds/Barely_Meeting_Expectations
Summary: Completion: (noun | com·ple·tion | \kəm-ˈplē-shən\) The act of finishing something in its entirety; the state of being fully finished; the final state of conclusion.Empty days pass and Gregg finds that he is immeasurably incomplete.Alone at night, littered with fresh bruises, Angus feels even more so.When they coincide, completion is compulsory.





	

Greggory Lee always had a problem with finishing things he started. Whether it be because he was a natural-born procrastinator; or because his frazzled mind jumped from one thing to another faster than a hummingbird’s heartbeat; or because some days he would hit rock bottom for no good reason and become bogged down by fear of failure; whatever the cause may be, Greggory Lee could never find the courage to finish things to completion.

He tries not to think about this too much, and tries to keep his mind focused on other things, instead.

When Gregg smashes through a new building’s window and explores its restricted interior, he often finds that he treats its unfamiliarity almost as if it were an extension of himself.

At first, it’s kind of scary. He’s a little hesitant to follow through with what he’d started, because he’s not so sure that he wants to know exactly what this complex contains. At first, he’s cautious, stepping carefully around the broken glass, tiptoeing although he knows nobody in their right mind would dare wander here. He’s light and fast on his feet, hopping and sprinting and skidding and making maps in his head of where he’s been and where he could possibly hide. He treats the abandoned structure with care, as if it were a delicately weaved spiders’ web, sturdy and strong but one wrong move, one moment without a thought in the back of his wild mind, and it could snap, and the entire thing would lose its value. Ah, he gave it value. He granted it so much value than it was actually worth, places like these were his churches and in the center he would find an altar and it beckoned him. He praised it, not so much the building, but the opportunity it provided, a chance to see something new, unfamiliar. A chance to become familiar with it, a chance to leave it newer than before. A chance to make something  _ different _ . Soon, he relaxes enough to take it in, his eyes soaking up the miscellaneous garbage and graffiti and whatever happened to be lying about in a godforsaken place like this.

Gregg notes the interesting aspects, brief little afterthoughts in his pounding head,  _ why’s this here? I didn’t know they needed this when this place was up and running. Oh, what’s that over there? Wonder what this was for? Oh my god, is that Scriggins’ handwriting? What a noob. _

He didn’t know that these botchy old dumps contained such unexpected treasures, which in turn gave the saying “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure” much more truth than it rightfully should have.

With every new break-in, he wanders aimlessly, absorbing the present state of what once was a bustling business or home or amusement park or factory what have you, and it’s sad when he thinks about it too much. It saddens him to see what was left behind, but it excites him and fills him with pride to see what others have come and left in its place, a kind of offering to what once resided there. They made it different, from an eerie office to an extravagant canvas, from a depressing carnival to a colorful wonderland. He could go on and on about how places like this, once completely forgotten and shut out of society, become a refuge of sorts, a palace for those who felt the same, and took it upon themselves to separate themselves from reality to make it  _ different _ .

When Gregg withdrew his essentials, it was for a different reason each time.

Some places needed color. Other places needed trash. Some needed skid marks and scratches and scars. Others needed names and pictures and cigarette butts. It all depended on what he felt like changing. It all depended on what he felt it needed to be finally complete.

Well, as complete as an abandoned trash heap could get at this point. But completion was key.

There was an art to this madness and it required a specific train of thought in order to understand its true beauty.

And the process typically began smoothly, and was pretty therapeutic, to be honest. Whether it be drinking or smoking or spraying or smashing or singing or shooting, whichever it was, it was what this place  _ needed _ (or, perhaps, what  _ he  _ needed; but he tried not to think too cynically). And Gregg felt happy to change something. He couldn’t tell you exactly why he felt the need to bust into a place nobody visits anymore and change it in a specific way. Perhaps it was to make it his own, as if a physical mark in the world was the only kind of mark he would ever be able to make. Perhaps, he felt that others would run into it and it would feel like home, a familiarity about it now that its stoic, unnerving emptiness was abruptly interrupted with either destruction or creation or sometimes both. Perhaps he treated is as practice for other everyday routines, to better convince himself that he was just as capable as everyone else. And when he started it, yeah, the process usually started alright.

It was the completion that he found the most difficult.

See, in Greggory’s mind, there were no second chances. Not only with meticulously manipulating the environment around him (there was an art to it, a certain method), but for… well, everything really. In his mind, first impressions were crucial. Regardless of what the circumstances were, Greggory Lee was what some would call a “destructive perfectionist”, and for good reason. He dedicates too much of his time into too many tiny details and inevitably neglects other things, more important things. Or maybe he does it on purpose so he can intentionally neglect the things he doesn’t particularly want to do. He didn’t really know which one was the real reason. He just knew that when he was by himself, away from the world like this, he should be perfectly capable of recreating whatever his wandering mind desired.

So when Gregg’s cig goes out, or the bottle slips from his hand and shatters, or when the design he just spent roughly three hours spraying just doesn’t  _ work… _ in short, he gives up.

And not just on what he was doing. He gives up on everything. He checks out. He takes several deep breaths and has to sit down for a few moments, or hours, sometimes days. He could have had the best day of his life before this and when he slips up on something as minuscule as habitual cigarette flick, it immediately becomes a bad day. His hands go numb and his eyes become glazed and unfocused and his mind goes dull because  _ honestly. _ H _ e couldn’t even break into a goddamn  _ building _ right, he couldn’t even get this right, this one little, simple, basic thing; he had it all thought out and went according to plan and everything, he was supposed to feel better here, he was supposed to be happy here doing things like this, he- _

Gregg would cry out and throw things and punch the walls until he heard a crack or his fists began to bleed. He would slump to the ground and tug his ears and bawl, because honestly, what else was he good for?

Good for nothing parking lot trash, trying to make himself out to be a cool guy, or an artist, or a prankster, or an honest, genuine person. Trying to fake it to the world when in reality he was nothing to anybody. A nobody. He was nothing in general. He blinks his tears away and he finds that he is no longer the same person who broke in. He cries until he makes himself sick and he can’t stop thinking about the disappointment written on his parents faces, or the rage in his uncles voice, or the sound of the sheep getting hit by the trucks-

Molly only found him twice. The first time, the officer had apparently heard him singing through the broken window, and applauded him for his astounding musical talent as she dragged him to the car.

The second time, she’d found him weeping in a ball on the floor midst a pile of blood and broken glass. She sat beside him and comforted him for awhile, taking him back to the station only to take care of his wounds before letting him off with a light warning and a phone number for him to call whenever he felt destructive or depressed.

But nobody seemed to understand that Gregg wasn’t depressed or destructive or whatever the hell, he was just inadequate. He was simply not enough, not only for those around him, but for himself.

Angus didn’t seem to think so, though.

Gregg couldn’t quite remember exactly when it was that he met Angus. It wasn’t necessarily a formal meeting, it had to have been during school. He thought that maybe they had a couple of classes together, or maybe Mae gradually let him slip into their “group” because of his close friendship with Beatrice, as well as Mae’s and Angus’ shared love for DemonTower. The fox wasn’t as occupied with remembering dates and times and places of where he’d met friends, he was more occupied with the fights he got in at school, the next place he would be able to break into, and so on and so forth. His priorities weren’t really in line at this point of his life. His only plan for the future was to not get caught stealing or trespassing and to not die. That was about it.

Gregg recalled that Angus’ plan was much more impressive and realistic. Graduate, land a job, attend college- it was all stuff he’d heard before. From his parents, ironically enough, who by now have given up all hope on having his son contribute anything useful to society.

Which was fine by Gregg. Gregg only wanted to contribute to satisfying himself.

(In retrospect, this might have been part of the problem.)

The more time that Gregg spends with Angus, the more he realizes that he genuinely enjoys the company. Not just the company of another being, a friend even, he specifically enjoys the company of Angus. Angus had these quirks about him, how he constantly readjusted his glasses, and always tried to look on the bright side of things the most logical way possible. His ears would shoot up and twitch when Gregg’s voice got too loud, and would slump down against his head when he saw that Gregg wasn’t depressed.

 

Although Mae and Gregg have been friends for, like,  _ ever _ , there was just something about Angus that kept drawing Gregg back. Maybe it was his laugh, or his deep rumbling voice, or the comfort that he couldn’t find anywhere else. Whatever the reason may be, Gregg tried to spend as much time with Angus as possible; which, at this point sadly, wasn’t as often as he’d liked it to be.

It’s towards the end of his freshman year of high school when Gregg realizes that he’s gay. He felt like he knew this long before that, but it became a topic that he constantly tried to avoid. When his parents ask why he has yet to have a girlfriend, or when Maggie M. from his health class invites him over to her place for some fun, the topic quickly becomes unavoidable. It’s not something he wakes up and discovers, gazing out into the sunset and saying,  _ “How about that, I’m gay _ .” It’s more of a trial-and-error situation, in which several girls are turned down and several other guys in his class actively begin avoiding him in the process.

And Gregg doesn’t care. Why should he? He stopped caring about what other people thought about him awhile ago, and the same applied to his orientation, in his mind. It was none of their business, regardless. He lives in a hick town in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere and he really should have seen this gross reaction coming.

What he didn’t see coming was the group of guys that were waiting for him in the hallway after school and the onslaught of fists and slurs thereafter. He didn’t actually have a firm grasp on what was happening until after he was thrown to the ground and they began kicking him.

And while he certainly wasn’t expecting to die or anything too serious in that regard, although the possibility was still there, he was also definitely not expecting Angus - the shy kid he only kind of knew from eating lunch with him and occasionally asking him for help with his homework - to come bolting through the hallway like a raging bull and then effortlessly beat the everloving shit out of every single one of them.

As it turns out, Angus and him, they were on the same boat; the only queer kids in town - or at least the only ones Gregg was aware of, although he had second thoughts when it came to Mae, whose parents had plans to send her off to college upon graduation.

Gregg wasn’t bothered by anybody else after that. And Angus was adamant about becoming closer friends.

 

And of course, Gregg naturally complied. It was almost compulsory. 

  
He didn’t break into anywhere new for a while after that. He simply didn’t feel the _need_ to.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a monster to write and I wanted to make it a one-shot but I'll just put this here for now and let ya'll know they gonna fucc next chapter sorry I haven't seen anything yet so it's time to make this fandom Sinful (TM). These two give me life and also we need to protect Gregg at all costs.


End file.
